Change in All Things is Sweet
by sarapals with past50
Summary: A short story  3-4 chapters  covering the time Catherine leaves CSI and Vegas. Fluff, Sara and Grissom, of course. And some sweet smut for all GSR lovers!
1. Chapter 1

A/N:_ We don't own CSI, but wanted Catherine's exit to be different-a glimpse of Grissom! And of course, there is fluff! A short one! Spoilers for Willows in the Wind, but we all know how that one ended!_

**Change In All Things is Sweet**

**Chapter 1**

Blowing air out of her mouth, Sara felt she had been gut punched. Catherine's announcement had seemed to come out of nowhere—leaving the lab, immediately taking a federal job—a decision made in haste, Sara thought, a decision one might regret in a few weeks. Slowly, she breathed in; her finger pressed the button for the car window to open and fresh air helped her breathing. She knew it wasn't the same yet she had felt the same way when hearing about Warrick. Catherine wasn't dead but her leaving would leave emptiness for Sara. They would not even have a good-bye party—Catherine insisted she wasn't going away forever, that she would be returning to Vegas frequently, that they were still like family.

"It will be sad and weird," Sara muttered as she pressed the button to start her car. Catherine had been in the lab the first time Sara had entered the place and while they had not always been friends, they had grown into something more. Like sisters, she thought; Catherine was one person she trusted for female companionship—and sometimes secrets.

Checking traffic, she pulled into the street. She had not called her husband to tell him the news. He had pretended it did not concern him when Catherine was demoted, but Sara knew it did. And her decision to leave would affect him more than he would admit. So, instead of a phone call, she'd tell him at home.

The thought of her husband being at home made her press her foot on the car's accelerator—not to speed, not much anyway. He would be waiting for her to arrive. She had not had time to call him during her long shift, not with all the confusing chaos taking place, Catherine and D.B. missing, then found after they discovered all the destruction at Catherine's house. Sara actually snickered a laugh imagining Grissom's face when she related all that had happened.

Catherine's leaving would not be the first or last major change in her life, she thought. With everything else that had happened—she never thought she would marry, she never thought she would return to work at the lab, she never thought she would live this calm, steady life—she should feel as shocked by Catherine's announcement as she was. Heavily, she sighed. Catherine was tired of all of 'it' and she should have recognized the signs before anyone. No, she corrected her thoughts; she—Sara—had not been tired. When she had abruptly left the lab, exhaustion had played a small part in the days leading up to that day; everything in her life had brought her to that black hole. Forever thankful for the support and therapy she had gotten after her total collapse, she had been able to return to normal life—a better life. She smiled at the thought of her "normal life".

Traffic slowed and she thought about her husband. He would want to see Catherine before she left town; Sara knew that was one reason she had not called him. He would not try to talk her out of leaving—everyone remembered how he left, him most of all. "Stayed too long" he often said.

Now, he was doing something he had always dreamed of doing. Quietly, Sara laughed again—made possible by a little secret his mother had managed to keep from him until—she grinned—just the right moment.

All traffic stopped for some reason. Sara pressed a button for the passenger window to slide down and, as the dry air of Las Vegas entered the car, she remembered the reveal of this secret.

Betty Grissom, Sara's mother-in-law, had arrived for dinner one spring day—several weeks after she had brought Sara a plant and the two had Skype-talked with Grissom who promised to return soon. Sara wasn't sure if it had been the actual case or learning of the inappropriate relationship of her colleague, but Betty changed or they both changed, she thought. She no longer thought of her mother-in-law as an irritation but as a pearl—sort of like the grit in an oyster turns to something valuable and beautiful—and Betty was actually a very thoughtful and pleasant person.

Grissom had returned; they had dinner. Betty showed no hesitation when demonstrating her newfound appreciation for her daughter-in-law. And during dinner there had been a rapid exchange in sign language between mother and son that Sara had been unable to follow—except for Gil's "my wife" and "our home" and something about his travel plans.

Sara had not asked for a verbal interpretation; she knew Gil was irritated, but had extended an invitation to Betty to come to their house for another dinner and that's when a secret nearly fifty years in the making had been disclosed. After a pleasant meal, Betty had pulled a thick envelope out of her purse, pushed it across the table, and slowly signed:

"This is for the two of you."

The age-yellowed brown envelope lay between their plates for a full minute before Grissom's fingers traced across the faded writing. Sara watched as he blinked several times, nervously wiped his hand across his face, and looked at his mother.

Sara could read the scratchy handwritten name: 'For Gil' on the first line and 'our son' on the second line. It was then she recognized the same writing was on the framed botanical prints—his father's prints—hanging in their house. She glanced at her husband.

Betty signed, "Open it," and smiled, slightly nodding her head toward Sara.

Sara pushed the envelope closer to her husband, and, because his expression seemed to be one of surprising shock, she placed her hand on the center of his back. She knew Gil had been nine years old when his father died; she also knew his mother had a small art gallery for many years, and he and his mother had been financially comfortable, not wealthy by anyone's definition, from a life insurance policy. Some instinct nudged in Sara's brain that this yellowed envelope held financial records and by presenting it to both of them, Betty was making a declaration—of something.

Grissom lifted the flap—one of those old-fashioned ones with a brass-colored metal tab on it—and withdrew a bundle of folded papers. Instead of unfolding the papers, he held them and looked at his mother, saying "What is this?"

His mother smiled. Slowly, giving Sara time to read her words, she signed and Grissom voiced her words, "Nearly fifty years ago, your father left an estate of seventy thousand dollars. Part of it came from the sale of your grandfather's land. There have been taxes, but overall the money has been left undisturbed." She reached for the white page wrapped around the bundle and placed it on the table before continuing, "This is the balance sheet. Not bad, I think." She smiled and her hands moved to the heavy paper covered with columns of figures, smoothing it with her fingertips.

Sara looked at the bottom of the page and even as one part of her brain processed the numbers, another part was telling her the number could not be correct. She glanced at Grissom who had not looked away from his mother's face, his face and hands appeared as unmoving as a marble statue. Sara's hand could feel the tense muscles ripple along his back.

"Mother," he said, and then his hands and fingers begin to sign rapidly as he spoke: "That money was not mine. It was yours."

Quickly, Betty placed the side of her hand on her palm. "Stop." Even Sara knew that word. She continued once Grissom's hands stopped moving. "I had money. I opened the gallery with it. Over the years, I have done well. I have traveled with my friends. When I sold the gallery, you know I became wealthy overnight. I have been and I continue to be well-placed for the life I lead and I enjoy my life. I enjoy seeing my son happy, and his wife who is a wonderful, kind woman.

"Several times I thought of telling you about this money. But you were so independent. You would never ask me for money." Suddenly, she laughed and continued signing. "Once you talked about needing money for a body farm and when I understood what that was, I made the decision to keep this a secret unless you really needed it. Or give it to you when you married or when there were children." She glanced at Sara and smiled. "Now, it is yours. I want both of you to have it. It is all in Gil's name, Sara. But in those papers is a form for you to make it a joint account."

"How much?" Grissom asked without looking at the balance sheet.

His mother held a hand toward Sara, passing the question to her. Sara put her finger on the last number and slowly said, "One million, three hundred fifty-two thousand, six hundred and eighty-two dollars."

Afterwards, Sara knew she felt Gil sway in his chair, but after she spoke the last number, she heard "Mother" in a hushed whisper before his hand turned the paper so he could see the numbers.

His mother's shrewd investment and her wise decision to keep a young man from spending an inheritance opened up dreams and ideas and opportunities Sara and Gil had only imagined. Yet outwardly, it changed nothing. Sara continued to work while her husband gathered his thoughts and designs for a project he had visualized for years. Not a body farm, but a book—and a data base—to use as a companion source for students and professors, entomologists and hobbyists, anyone curious about beautiful insects. He no longer had to write proposals for a funded research project or work on someone else's project. When someone called asking for his expertise, he did not have to ask for compensation. Most of the time he stayed at home and worked on his project, never giving a thought to actual profit, as he had already decided to give away most of the books.

Remembering the event that had brought such a change in their financial security caused Sara to smile. It wasn't the money, she thought; it was the assurance and confidence of knowing she did not have to worry about money. And her thoughts turned again to Catherine, very wealthy from her inheritance from Sam Braun, who was leaving one job for another. Sara realized why Catherine was leaving—she was tired and bored and looking for something new—a change.

She pressed the remote for the garage door to open and coasted inside. Grissom would hear the door close and be standing in the kitchen by the time she opened the back door. She chuckled as she thought about the man she loved. He would be wearing an old soft shirt, baggy jeans, and sandals, and smiling.

The door opened for her and there he was—just as she knew he would be.

"Hey, Honey," he said softly as she went into his open arms. "I've missed you." And before she could say anything, he kissed her. With a few words, he managed to sum up her shift, "You've been on the news."

"Me?" She lifted her head from his shoulder.

"Not you—Sara Sidle—but a shooting involving a crime scene investigator and two seconds later I heard from Ecklie who said it wasn't you, but it was Catherine. And something about bringing her in using a body bag."

Sara made an effort to laugh. "I work there and you must have known as soon as I did!"

He hugged her tightly. "Please stay safe, Sara—for me."

She lifted her hands to his face; her palms rested on his cheeks as her fingers threaded through his hair. "I'm very careful, Gil. Now more than ever—and there's more that's happened. No one else is hurt," she hastened to add. "I want to take my shoes off and be next to you when I tell it."

Grissom took her hand and led her to the living room sofa where he pulled off her shoes and removed her sweater as she told him about the FBI, Catherine's 'friend', the deaths, the horror of finding Catherine's house empty but eerily and hastily repaired, and by the time she was nearing the conclusion of the case, her husband was beside her, enclosing her inside a quilt with his warm body stretched the length of hers. His strong hands gave her a gentle massage as she talked.

"And now, the last part of all of this—this morbid case," she wrapped her arms around Grissom, "is that Catherine announced her resignation—she's leaving. Quickly, for some federal job with the FBI, and after the past couple of days, she decided to take it. She's leaving soon—and she seemed—I think she is relieved."

Sara had expected Grissom to have an immediate reaction, a boisterous refutation or an animated response, but instead, he was quiet, only making an easy grunt.

She said, "You're not surprised."

"No," he replied and kissed her forehead. "I am not. Catherine has always worked—that's all she's ever done. She deserves better than the demotion she got. And she deserves to travel. Lindsey's in college, her mother is healthy." His voice deepened. "She doesn't have to worry about money. She understands law enforcement and she knows quality assurance standards. And she won't get shot at."

As he talked, Sara had pulled away so she could watch his face. "You knew about this? You knew she was leaving?"

Shaking his head, he said, "No, I only knew the job would be offered."

Sara laughed. "They called you—the feds called you, didn't they! And you turned them down. Gil! You sly fox! And you recommended Catherine—does she know?" Her hand flattened against his chest, then moved to his chin, and before he answered, she kissed him.

"No! And she's not to know. I need to call her—when's the party?"

"No party. She's leaving in a few days—told all of us right before we left. I think we were all so exhausted and surprised that we didn't know what to think. She's always been there—I thought she might leave one day to spend Sam's money, but never thought she would leave Vegas."

"I need to see her, Sara. Catherine and I have a long history."

Sara smiled and kissed him again. "She's meeting Morgan," giving him the name of a decade's old restaurant. "Go see her. I'll shower and sleep."

_A/N: This is a short story-3 or 4 chapters._


	2. Chapter 2

_A/N: And the second chapter! Reviews appreciated!_

**Change In All Things Is Sweet**

**Chapter 2**

Catherine watched as Morgan left the restaurant, thinking of the time she had been Morgan's age. Hopefully, her words to the young woman would give her the courage she would need if she chose to remain in Vegas. She lifted her hand to a waiter who nodded and disappeared. Catherine sighed. It was time to change when a young waiter knew what she wanted simply by a raised hand.

As she waited, she looked around the place her mother had brought her as a child. She did not know until many years later that her father owned the place as a silent owner just as she was now. While she knew changes had taken place, it still retained an old Vegas charm—soft lights, warm leather banquettes, a quiet atmosphere, a state-of-the-art bar, impeccable service, and uniformed waiters who used gold-finished crumb sweepers during table service. Some things were best left unchanged, she thought, as the young man arrived with a cup of her favorite coffee.

"Anything else, Mrs. Willows?"

Catherine smiled; someone knew who she was—most likely the manager whose office overlooked the dining area had seen her arrive. Even the manager did not know she owned the place but he did know her as a regular customer. When most of Sam Braun's estate had finally gotten into the hands of his financial experts, Catherine had been the solitary last standing offspring of one of the wealthiest men in Vegas. All of it—land, rental buildings, casinos, gambling licenses, several houses, and a bank vault filled with cash—had been placed in her hands.

Of course, no one knew—except her mother. Lindsey knew there was money, but not how much. And just as quickly as all the wealth passed to Catherine, she had turned it back to the financial wizards to hide. Nothing made public was to have her name on it—Braun Family Trust, she had named her wealth, and then divided it into another layer of smaller trust accounts and business names—Clear Lake Management Group, High Horse Enterprise, and LLC, Inc.—were listed as owners of property. With excellent advice from the best lawyers and accountants in Vegas, she was several steps removed from signing a check or owning individual property; even her house was owned by Braun Family Trust. To anyone who might have an interest in her wealth, Catherine appeared to be a local government employee who was good at managing her money.

She sipped her coffee. And now she was leaving the city that had given her life, where so much had happened—good, bad, exciting, and sad. Not leaving forever, she thought, but going away for a while, a sabbatical. She grinned—like Grissom had done years ago. He had returned in a few short weeks—Nick did not think he would return, but, of course, none of them knew about Sara then.

Over the hushed quietness found at certain times in any business, she heard voices—a familiar voice—and looked toward the door.

She laughed. Gil Grissom was ambling toward her table, a clever grin on his face, his hands stuck in pockets of his dark pants, wearing a red shirt he had worn for years. Sara had delivered the news and somehow he had figured out where she would be.

"Well," said Catherine, "if you aren't a sight for sore eyes!"

He slid into the booth, still smiling. "It's always good to see you too, Catherine." He reached across the table and covered her hand with his. "I heard you have some news—and you didn't even call to tell me."

"I would have, Gil. You know I'd never leave town without telling you!"

"Tell me."

The waiter arrived before Catherine could speak and took Grissom's order for coffee.

"I'm going to work for the FBI," she laughed. "I know you've never been a fan of most of the agents we've met, but, Gil, I need a change!"

"What's the job?"

"Not a field agent—way too old for that work—but I'll be a quality assurance consultant. Not sure who I'll consult, but I'll get to travel to all the FBI labs in the country, see the work they are doing, checking standards." She laughed. "I really don't know what I'll be doing, but it's different and I'll finally get out of Vegas."

"So when do you start?" Grissom's coffee came with a small silver tray holding a tiny china cream jug and a matching sugar bowl. He picked up the jug. "This has to be the last place in the city still using these things."

Catherine smiled. "I know—one reason I love this place. I go to Washington on Monday and if everything checks out, I'll be an official government employee by the end of the week and begin my orientation with the FBI the next week." She sipped her coffee. "I know it's quick, but if I think about this change very long, I'll back out. There is so much of me here—the only place I've ever called home, Gil. But I need something—something else." Quickly tears formed in her eyes and she looked away.

Grissom said, "I know, Catherine. All of us are looking for something and sometimes we have to make changes to know what it is." He chuckled, "Change in all things is sweet."

Catherine turned her face to his, "Shakespeare?"

"Aristotle."

She laughed again. "We had a good run—no, we had a great run, didn't we?"

"We did. I have no regrets—not between us." He leaned forward, absent-mindedly stirring his coffee. "Between us, I would not change a thing."

"Not even when I used the lab to find out Sam was my father?" Her mouth curled in a smile. "I wish you had told me about you and Sara—I would have kept a secret."

Her words made him smile; he said, "You know, we never meant to keep us a secret as long as we did—it just happened. We wanted privacy—and we got it. For months, we knew someone would ask or say something, and then when no one did, we just stayed a secret."

"Okay, tell me, Gil." She placed elbows on the table and propped her chin on laced fingers. "When did she move in with you? When did you—first—you know—become a couple?" She grinned. "I'll keep it a secret!"

He made a deep chest sound, very similar to a growl. "Catherine, you are leaving town in a few days and you want to know that?" His voice deepened to a stage whisper and he shook his head. "I'm not telling you!" He lifted his cup and held it out to her. "Tell me about your gunshot wound—have you ever been shot before this?"

Catherine made a face. "You two were always a couple, weren't you? And it's a flesh wound—looked much worse that it is. My tetanus is up-to-date so I'll be fine. Come on—spill the beans about you and Sara!" Her eyebrows lifted. "I know you have a great sex life! She told me!"

Grissom drank his coffee, attempting to conceal the rising warmth that would blush his face, and looked out of the wall of glass separating he and Catherine from the increasingly busy street as people began to make their way to places of work and children headed to school. The day would be a bright, sunny one but blue tinged with winter that had arrived in the near mountains.

Slowly, he began to talk. "We've always loved each other, Catherine. I think from the first day we met, I knew Sara was the one woman who would never judge me. She was so young—so very young—and at the time I felt so much older! When she came to Vegas—when I asked her to come—I thought," he stopped, gave a soft laugh and continued, "I don't know what I thought! But I knew I wanted her near me. And she got here and she fit in with you and Nick and Warrick. I thought I had found the pot of gold at the end of a rainbow!" He glanced at Catherine and then turned his face again to look out the window.

"You know how life is—once you said we were family and I thought we were. But Sara—she has always been tenacious—if you ever tell her I said she was stubborn, I'll deny it and never call you a friend!" With that he looked at Catherine, shook his head and continued. "She was determined! And at times so frail, so crushed by some cases—she wasn't like you and the guys—she carried the weight of victims for all of us.

"I knew it couldn't go on—I knew she'd burn out. You just have to move on—but after a brutal case, she was sitting at work long after she should have gone home. I took her to breakfast—we talked. And after that, we were seldom apart." He shrugged his shoulders, "We—we read, we watched movies, we shopped and ate together. And one day I realized I loved this woman—I had loved her since San Francisco. I was too afraid, too selfish, too conceited to admit how much she meant to me.

"She was the one who set limits. Most mornings she would run to my house and I'd fix breakfast while she showered and changed, but she would not leave clothes at my house, or even her bottle of shampoo! I'd look at her while we ate and know she was the most beautiful woman in the world. But we were—friends, not lovers. She would search the newspapers for quiet events—chamber music at the university, art exhibitions in out-of-the-way galleries; we'd drive into the mountains and spend a day." He gave a soft laugh. "One day, she was watching a movie I'd seen already, so I went to bed and left her on the sofa and when I woke up, Sara was with me—she had decided it was time we moved to the next step—it was a Sunday." His voice was soft and filled with emotion.

Picking up his cup again, he grinned before draining its contents. "And that's how we got together."

Catherine smiled, "While I was working swing?"

He nodded. "Yeah, it probably was—before Nick was kidnapped."

The waiter appeared carrying a small platter with several warm muffins. "Compliments of the manager," he whispered as he placed two plates on the table along with a tub of butter.

Grissom picked up a muffin. He chuckled and softly said, "Sara's right—we have great sex."

Catherine nearly choked on her coffee.

"I heard you and Lou were a couple—what's happening with that?"

Pulling a muffin into pieces, Catherine shook her head. "Lou is a great guy—but he—he wanted more." A sad slow smile spread across her face at the same time a look of sorrow filled her eyes. "He's not my Sara, Gil. I think I missed the one true love of my life."

Nodding, Grissom said, "I've tried to think what I could have done differently—how could I have changed things…"

Quickly, Catherine seemed to recover. "There is nothing we could have done, Gil! Nothing! We didn't know we were dealing with a mad man! McKeen killed him in cold blood—Warrick was an innocent! McKeen would have killed any of us who were in his way! He told the sheriff he would have killed you that morning if Warrick had said one word!"

Grissom sighed. "You want to go for a ride?"

For years, they had read each others thoughts; Catherine reached for her purse and raised a hand to the waiter.

"I'll get this," Grissom said.

She laughed, "No, this is mine—I have a running account here."

They got in Catherine's vehicle and drove west into one of the older neighborhoods of Las Vegas. Catherine knew a short cut and turned through several streets arriving at the back of the cemetery. The tall leafy trees marking the boundary of the cemetery had been planted decades ago in an attempt to provide shade to the last resting place of those buried there. Catherine stopped near a pedestrian gate and the two followed a gravel path to the grave of Warrick Brown.

Neither spoke as they stood at the grave site. Grissom had paid for the granite tombstone, a simple design with the quote "An honest man is the noblest work of God" engraved below the name and dates. Fresh flowers had been placed next to the headstone. Another similar bouquet was on the next grave.

"You do this, don't you?" Grissom asked, indicating the flowers.

"If I don't who will—least I can do—there is no one else…"

Grissom placed his arm around Catherine's waist, remembered her wound and moved his hand to her arm. "I don't know how I could have prevented this," he whispered.

Catherine's fingers swiped across her eyes. "Perhaps it's fate, Gil. We're willing to believe in destiny for the good that happens—we should believe the same for the bad." She made a soft laugh. "That sounds like a line from a bad movie!"

He gave her arm a gentle pat as they turned back to the path. "Do you know when you'll get back here? You need to find housing, settle in to a new job. Can I do anything for you? For Lily? You know how much I appreciate what you did for me when I left."

The sun had climbed high enough to make dappled shadows in the cemetery yet the stone markers seemed to glow with an iridescent brightness of their own. The grounds, covered with a lush green carpet of grass no longer found in many lawns of Vegas, appeared to be a bird sanctuary as dozens of birds chirped and sang and flew from one perch to another as the two people walked along the path.

"I'm not sure when I'll return. I cleaned out my office." She laughed. "My house needs some repair work done, but that will be taken care of, so I think I'm good to go. I'll travel light until I decide where I'm going to live."

They stopped at the gate and Grissom pushed it open but neither took another step.

"I really do appreciate you, Gil. All I've learned from you—all you did for me—I—I feel like I've let you down."

Grissom chuckled. "No, Catherine, you've never let me down. One of my greatest accomplishments will always be the work we did—we were great, and now it's time we move on. It's someone else's time to run the lab."

"Yeah, dumpster dive at two in the morning—some things I won't miss."

Quickly, Catherine reached up and took his face between her hands and kissed him on the lips. It was a sisterly kiss, dry and cool. She said, "If you and Sara need anything—anything—let me know. Seriously, Gil, I have more money than Lindsey and I will ever spend. I could fund research for you! Set you up to study bugs in Mongolia." She made a slight twist of her head as she spoke. A breeze lifted her hair away from her face. "Sam Braun's money could do that."

Grissom shook his head. "I don't need money, Catherine. Sara and I are fine and I think I'm settled back here for a while." He nodded his head toward her car. "I'll tell you about it on the way back."

_A/N: Time to hit the review button! We don't 'write Catherine' so let us know how we did! And next chapter is all GSR, sweet smut, Sara loving Grissom. More reviews = next chapter quickly!_

_Thanks so much to all readers, especially to those wonderful readers and friends who review!_


	3. Chapter 3

_A/N: Thank you to everyone for reading-and a special thanks to those who send a comment! This one is a sweet smut chapter. Hope you enjoy!_

**Change In All Things is Sweet**

**Chapter 3**

The house was quiet when he returned. Even the dog did not raise his head as Grissom filled the water bowl. A blinking message light on the house phone caught his eye and he punched the necessary numbers to retrieve the message. As he listened, a smile spread across his face.

He slipped into the darkened bedroom, finding Sara sleeping soundly in her usual middle-of-the-bed pose. As he shed clothing, he watched her sleep. She seldom moved enough to rearrange covers as she slept; her hands were curled against her chest, her ankles crossed. The only time she seemed to move during sleep was when she wrapped an arm around his chest or placed her leg across his thigh.

He crawled into bed naked—most of the time he slept that way—especially when Sara was in bed with him. It was one of the reasons he still worked at night, and the pleasure of sleeping with his wife was one of the reasons he had reduced his consulting work to a few days a month. Carefully, quietly, he tried to get into bed without disturbing her but as soon as he lifted the bedcovers, she moved.

"Hey," she whispered, her voice husky with sleep. "Catherine okay?"

"She's fine." He rolled over and gathered her in his arms. Breathing deeply, he filled his lungs with the scent of Sara—a sea breeze in the middle of the desert. She smelled faintly of salt and citrus with a floral base yet no flower smelled like this.

"You went to the cemetery," she mumbled against his neck. Her sense of smell, working even as she slept, had detected the fragrance of evergreens.

He answered softly, his hands pulling at her clothes. "We did." Pushing her pants from her hips, he said "You're wearing too many clothes."

"Without you, I was cold."

She wiggled her feet as she came out of her pants. His hands lifted her shirt, pulling it over her head and tossing it away from the bed. In a quick smooth motion, his hands were caressing her body; his thumbs stroked her breasts before he wrapped an arm around her back and pulled her tightly against his chest. His right hand traced her spine from the small of her back to her butt. Gently, he began a massage, moving his fingers from her waist along the slope of her butt to the sweet valley between her legs.

Sara kissed his chest, his shoulder, making a trail of light touches with her tongue as she moved her mouth. His hand on her butt lifted and pressed her to his groin and she felt the firm warmth of his growing erection. She lifted her leg and wrapped it around his thigh, opening her body to his gently probing fingers.

When his fingers touched her, his arm stretching behind her, her mouth on his in a deep kiss, she moaned—a passionate sound swallowed by the kiss. His fingertips separated her velvety folds and found the tender bud of her sex, awakening a thousand nerves that seemed to travel faster than lightening to her brain. She moaned again as his fingers played, stroking, caressing with a lovely rhythm that seemed to mix fire and water.

"Let me," she murmured. And he did.

She rolled on top, placing her knees against his thighs. Stretching across his chest, warm palms flattened, she glided upward so smoothly his skin felt as if silk sheets were wrapping around his torso. Her hands cradled his face, long fingers curled into his hair. As her hands, fingers and mouth touched his face, Sara moved her hips against his in a gentle rocking motion. When he tried to move, she locked her feet around his knees.

"Not yet," she whispered.

His growing erection was trapped as she skillfully slid herself from the base of his penis along his shaft to its head—almost. He tried to move—a few centimeters were all he needed and he would be inside her. She continued to dip and glide her sex along his penis. Driving him mad with anticipation, he groaned her name as her body moved in a tantalizing slow dance. He could feel her pulsating muscles, the warm wetness of her arousal.

Deciding he had played long enough, he stretched his arms, grabbing the bottom of her butt with one hand; the other hand, he used to thread fingers into her sexual folds.

Sara giggled, softly in his ear, and slipped away from his fingers—just enough. His fingers moved, his hips lifted, and in an instant, the head of his penis was entering the place he sought. One quick thrust and he was completely enveloped.

Words as old as man had tried to describe the feelings of this moment, he thought. Poets had written poetry; play writers had attempted dialogue. Novelists and romance authors described the act as exploding fireworks and crashing waves, as whirlpools and waterfalls, in a myriad of expressive descriptions, but no language could describe the intimacy of placing the most vulnerable part of man into this lush, warm and welcoming receptacle of the person you loved. It was simply indescribable—yet the one place he knew he belonged. All of his thoughts took place in nanoseconds, expressed as a soft "ah" as his erection penetrated and passed the circle of muscles guarding Sara's core.

Once he gained full access, when his dark tangled bird's nest of wiry hair met the darker soft curls and pink flesh of Sara, he held her butt with both hands and gently forced all movement to stop.

Sara's face lifted away from his. "Slick move, Gilbert," she said, laughter coming underneath her words.

He smiled. "I want on top."

A full-fledged giggle erupted from her throat. She kissed him, laced arms around his head, and as his hands firmly held her butt, they rolled together.

Grissom felt his body sink deeper—real or imagined, he thought as his hips settled against hers. His face came to rest against her neck, below her ear. "There is no way to describe this," he whispered. His primitive mind could not remain motionless. His hips lifted, back and forth, pushing, pulling; slowly building momentum until the rhythm became as steady as a heartbeat.

Sara's response was to bring his face to hers and kiss him; starting with his forehead, she planted her mouth briefly along every inch of his face, causing a tingling sensation that wanted more each time she moved until his face was flushed with desire.

He felt her back arch into his movements. The tiny tremors he had felt within her body grew until her muscles seem to take on a pulsating beat that matched his. Faster he moved. He could hear the cadenced swish of his balls against Sara's perineum—an erotic intimate sound on its own. He could feel the dampness increase as desire bloomed—warm Sara honey, he named it. Her trembling muscles seemed to demand more—he rocked, he plunged, he pushed into her until their movements became one. He could not stop—Sara owned his body as her mouth broke away from his and in ecstasy, she cried his name.

Sara knew her desire swelled rapidly as her husband entered her. She had always been that way with him. He could look at her from across the room, or touch her body with the lightest touch, and she would dampen with desire. Once she told him it wasn't nice to turn her into a puddle. He had laughed, called her "my honey pot" and declared he would never leave her wanting again—which had made for several interesting couplings on numerous occasions. But her brain left those thoughts to return to what was going on in the present time.

He filled her, rose above her, kissed her as his fingers danced along delicate skin. His lips kissed, his tongue tasted, his penis throbbed, his hips moved and all thoughts left her mind as emotions took over. She had been born for this man—not as male and female but with a specific code in her genes—in his genes—that destined them to meet at one moment in time.

Her orgasm reached a crescendo—her body finding release as her muscles quivered and her brain thought only of pleasure, desire, and oneness. Seconds later, she placed hands on Grissom's face and pulled him into a deep passionate kiss using her mouth to completely possess him. Her legs were already entwined with his, but she consciously lifted her knees and locked her ankles around his hips.

Sara knew he plunged deeply into her body. Experts might disagree, but she felt the head of his penis touch her cervix. She felt the release of his seminal fluids as he climaxed.

His audible gasp, the way his hips moved, attempting to bury himself into her pelvis, caused Sara to lift her butt, arch her back; her muscles pulled, squeezed, drawing every drop of semen from him, taking all she could as his orgasm subsided.

Yet, even after each had reached their sexual climax, neither moved. Sara lowered her feet and wrapped legs around his. Grissom raised himself on elbows and kissed Sara much the way she had kissed him, covering her neck and face with light kisses while her face continue to glow with satisfaction.

"I love you, Sara."

"I love you, Gil," she smiled; her face flushed with passion.

"You are beautiful," he told her.

Sara accepted his words without rebuke—she knew he spoke truthfully even as she doubted her own beauty. Long ago she had decided to trust him.

Grissom punched a pillow underneath his head, keeping their bodies together for a while longer. His fingers threaded and wound through Sara's hair.

"We got a phone call this morning," he said quietly and when Sara's eyes opened, he continued, "A publisher wants the book."

Her eyes widened. "To print?"

"To publish and promote. I won't have to self-publish and I might sell a few copies."

"Oh, Gil! You knew you had a good book—I knew you had a great book! People will love it!"

He grunted. "A very specific audience will like it." His finger traced a path to her mouth. She kissed his finger.

She said, "I have a gift for you—I was waiting for a special occasion and I think this is it." She wiggled and they lost their connection. Grissom rolled away from her as she scooted across the bed. She opened the drawer in the bedside table and removed a package.

Placing it in his hands, she pulled the sheet up to cover her naked body and watched as he hefted the package seeming to weigh it with his hands. Carefully, he peeled brown tape from the wrapping. Inside, bound in leather and printed in handset type on heavy rag paper, was his book. Drawings and photographs had been printed and bound between single pages of featherweight tissue paper. There were two copies of what he knew was a very expensive printing process.

Grissom smiled. "Who's the second copy for?" He asked.

"Not who you think." Sara leaned over and kissed him in a measured way, as if each kiss meant she gathered a new fact about her husband. "I've wanted to give you something very special for a long time," she said.

"This book is a wonderful present," he whispered.

"Not just the book," she said. "Something more. The other book is for our child—when it's grown."

"Child?" His voice broke as his breath stopped in his throat. She had not said anything; he had seen no sign or indication that suggested pregnancy.

"No, I'm not pregnant—not yet—but I will be." She took his face in her hands. Her brown eyes had grown even darker. "It's wrong to let what you love die out, Gil, if you can keep it alive. It's a way for us to live a little longer—to be a part of the future—for everything we love to live beyond us. "

As her finger circled his ear, he quietly said her name "Sara"—agreeing, accepting, approving, appreciative, as softly as a whisper.

A/N: _One more chapter! Maybe we'll get a glimpse of Grissom in season 12! Thank you again! And if you haven't yet, we'd appreciate your comments and reviews! The 'smut writer' wants to hear from everyone who reads this chapter! :)_


	4. Chapter 4

_A/N: This is the last chapter! An ending rather than "The End"!_

**Change In All Things is Sweet**

**Chapter 4**

_**The Future:**_

The sun, in a cloudless sky glittering on glass and metal buildings, seemed to reflect thousands of points of light making everything brighter. It was all the vivid colors, Sara thought. The line of dark tropical emerald green and snowy white sand slid into an azure ocean that stretched as far as one could see; the dense green foliage provided a natural screen between buildings and the serene sun washed beach. From fifteen stories above, the white sands and clear sparkling water met and mixed in a gentle stirring of calm surf. Multi-colored umbrellas, beach chairs, boards, boats, and kites added a rainbow of colors to the scene.

The view and luxury of the expensively decorated apartment on the fifteenth floor was appreciated but somewhat lost at the moment on Sara as she chased a running two-year-old, finally cornering him against the expansive glass window.

"Shoes, Sam! You need shoes to go outside."

The toddler nodded a blonde curly head as he agreed. "Side," he pointed a chubby finger at the window. "Water," he said stretching the word to two syllables.

Sara nodded. Every day her son added another word yet he refused to string words together. The physician had told her "completely normal" when she had expressed concern about Sam's language development.

"But he's so different!" She had insisted in a whisper.

The pediatrician had laughed, turning to the second child in the room. Dark curls bounced around her head as the little girl hopped across the colored floor tiles when he called her name. "Isabella, how are you?"

Her blue eyes sparkled as she laughed and said, "Dr. Wren, I'm fine. Today is Sam's check-up, not mine!"

The physician lifted her to the table. "I know, but since you came along to help your mom, can I check your ears and throat?"

Obediently, the small girl opened her mouth for the doctor.

Physicians did not see many children like Isabella Grissom—Isa to her family. She walked at ten months; she talked early—not simple words but complete sentences. And her bright blue-green eyes with a thick fringe of long dark lashes seemed to understand more than she expressed. She was years ahead of expectations for a three year old, often demonstrating cognitive development surpassing testing capabilities for a young child.

Standing at the window near her brother, Isa turned to her mother. "Daddy's coming."

"Good. We'll go to the beach soon." Sara said, long past showing confusion when her daughter made such a statement.

The girl nodded and glanced at her mother. At three years old, she knew people expected explanations, but not her mother. Her mother understood. "Will Aunt Catherine be with him?"

"Yes, she will. We'll go to the beach together."

"Aunt Catherine says she's known me forever." Isa giggled. "Forever is a long time."

Sara laughed with her daughter. "She was there when you were born."

Isa giggled. "I don't remember that."

Sara fastened Sam's sandals and attempted to straighten his shirt but gave up as the toddler twisted a few times as he sang one word—"Daddy" over and over.

"I'm glad you don't remember the day you were born, Isa! It was chaos!"

Laughing, Isabella knew her birthday story by heart. "Daddy was in San Diego talking about his book and Uncle Greg and Aunt Catherine had to take us to the hospital because I decided to come early!" The little girl left the window and twirled into the room, the bright yellow skirt of her swimsuit floated around her narrow hips as she turned. Her brother joined her but his dance became a series of running dashes from sofa to window.

Sara laughed as the two small children entertained each other for a few minutes. Thirteen months separated her children; it might as well be thirteen years, she thought. Dark-haired, delicate-looking Isabella was the same height as her blonde-haired chubby younger brother. Even their blue eyes were different; Sam's crystal cerulean eyes were the same as his father's. Isabella's eyes were darker—by some genetic swirl of genes a drop of gold mixed with blue had given her eyes a rare coloring that caused strangers to stare—turquoise, the color of the ocean on a clear sunny day.

Isabella had not forgotten her story as she danced back to her mother. "But you were determined and waited for Daddy to get home!" The child's face glowed with excitement. "I remember Aunt Catherine staying with me when Sam was born. She painted my fingers and toes!" Isa stopped dancing and spread out her fingers. "I need by fingernails painted." She sighed and wishfully looked at her mother.

Struggling to keep a smile from forming, Sara shook her head. "Not yet."

The door clicked as it opened and both children turned away from Sara and ran toward it. For several excited minutes, two adults and two children laughed and giggled, talking over each other, as Gil Grissom and Catherine Willows returned to the apartment after spending the morning speaking at a forensic conference.

Finally, when each child was in the arms of one adult, Sara managed to ask, "How did it go?"

"Great!" Catherine said. "Everyone had questions! Everyone had Gil's book!"

Grissom's face was captured in two small hands; he was smiling.

"Daddy, it is time to go to the beach, please," Isabella pleaded. "I'm all ready."

"Give me three minutes and I'll be ready to go—I know you've waited as long as you can."

Within ten minutes, everyone was heading out the door. Even Catherine had changed heels for flip-flops and her expensive pants for shorts. 'Limit sun exposure,' she had explained the day before as she tried to stay under a rainbow colored beach umbrella's shade. The two children carried favorites; Isabella managed to drag a short child-size body board behind her while Sam carried a small plastic bucket and shovel. Hats, towels, toys, sun block, drinks and food filled the bags the adults carried as they joined other sun-seekers.

Age, temperament, personal preference—whatever it was—the two children had completely different interests at the beach. Sam occupied himself with sand and digging and rarely ventured farther than a few steps from his parents. Isabella loved water and could barely contain her excitement on arrival when she realized she was surrounded by the ocean. She splashed in calm surf, she jumped small waves; she marked and remembered high tide from one day to the next. Intrigued by surf boards, body boards, and paddle boards, she begged to try all of them.

The day before Grissom had found a child-sized body board and purchased it knowing it would probably be left behind when they went home. The same place had tiny floatation jackets; he got one of those and his daughter was delighted. If allowed, she would spend every waking minute in the water determined to "ride like the big kids". Her parents took turns pulling her into hip-deep water, turning her around, and waiting for "the right wave" so she could ride the surf onto the beach. Almost every time, she tumbled from the board, came out of the ocean spitting water and laughing at herself, saying "I'm not hurt! I'm not afraid!", and ready to try again. A few times, when the perfect wave pushed her onto the sand, she held onto the board and jumped up shouting "Did you see me? Mom? Dad? I'm surfing!" Everyone within earshot heard her.

"She's a fish—a dolphin!" Catherine said with a laugh. "Poor child, surrounded by desert sand when her true love is being in the water."

Grissom made a lopsided grin. "Not enough water in Vegas to fill a kiddy-pool unless it belongs to one of the big hotels." He glanced at Catherine. "Sorry, don't mean to talk about your place."

Catherine laughed. "You know someone else takes care of that, but you're right. Why do we think a desert should be filled with pools and fountains? I wouldn't put my toe in a pool in Vegas right now 'cause it all comes back around." She lowered her voice. "You know the joke—every pool party becomes a weekly bath time for those making their living on their backs."

"Oh, God, Catherine!" Sara said, folding legs to sit in the sand beside Catherine's chair. "I know it's bad—I just don't want to hear it!" She lifted a thumb. "Your turn, big guy. I'm exhausted!" She reached for a towel. "I'll take Sam and you can be the surfer's helper."

The three adults laughed as Grissom grunted, struggled to get out of his chair, and passed the sleeping boy into his mother's arms. He left his sandals in the sand as he ambled his way to his daughter who waited, eager and impatient, at the edge of the ocean.

Catherine adjusted the umbrella. "Sam is like his dad—he'll sunburn easily, won't he."

Sara nodded. "Sometimes it's a little scary how much he's like Gil. I know what he's going to say or do before he does!" She brushed sand from his arm as he slept. "We are very blessed to have two sweet babies, Catherine."

"Not just sweet—but smart and beautiful. How is Isabella doing—other than being the smartest three-year-old in town?"

"Good—great. She's in a preschool that has really given her a challenge," Sara said, turning to watch as her daughter and her husband waded into the water. "I don't want her to be a freak, Catherine. I want her to enjoy being a child."

Catherine laughed. "She's enjoying this—determined little thing, isn't she?" She reached into a small cooler and handed Sara a bottle of water.

For several minutes, they watched as father and daughter waited for the perfect curling wave. Several waves rolled in before Grissom let go of the board and Isabella held on until she and the board skimmed the top of the wave to the shore. Catherine and Sara continued watching as Grissom made paddling motions with his hands; his daughter nodded and did the same.

"Is he always like this?" Catherine asked.

"Always," Sara laughed softly. "He's having a good time. And he and Isa have these long conversations. It really is amazing to watch."

Catherine nodded in the direction of father and daughter. "Does he even swim?"

The two women laughed so loud, Grissom turned in their direction. When his eyes met Sara's, he grinned and gave his swimsuit a tug. Sara gave him a thumb's-up sign and a broad smile.

Isabella started into the water by herself, pulling her board until she was knee-deep in water. Carefully, she held the board and stretched her body along its surface. Balanced and determined, she paddled. Grissom turned and followed her; he did not hurry, content to wade behind the child. He seemed to take pleasure in watching her.

The little girl reached her limit—physically as well as depth of water. She turned to glance behind her and lifted her hand to wave at her father, proud of her achievement. Several feet behind her, Grissom called out a warning to hold on to the board. At the same time, a swell, unseen, unexpected, surged forward and lifted the board to its crest. Isabella grabbed the edge of the board as it was carried on the crest. Her feet left the board and her body seemed to fly free in the air for several long moments as the swell gathered speed and took child and board with it toward the shore.

Her father managed to remain standing as the crest hit him in the face; in the trough, he lost sight of his daughter for a few seconds.

The light-weight body board seemed to glide along a moving wall of water; any second it could tip and roll with Isabella underneath it. All Grissom could think was how his daughter might choke on salty water, frightened and panicked as water closed around her. He tried to run in hip-deep water—slipped and fell, quickly righted himself in time to see the board slam into the sand. The child was thrown clear.

Sara had been watching; she ran toward her daughter, hugging her son to her chest. Catherine was following, blonde hair flying, and floundered in the sand.

Isabella was not hurt. Grissom reached her after Sara had pulled the little girl upright. Sam continued to sleep against his mother's shoulder.

His daughter looked at him out of enormous, clear blue eyes, nearly the color of the ocean.

"I wasn't afraid," she said. She smiled, her face breaking in a broad grin showing a row of pearly white teeth.

"Yes, Isa, I know," Grissom replied, his heart suddenly overflowing with love, his voice trembling with emotion.

_A/N: And another story ends-thank you for reading! Thank you for reviews! We appreciate the extra effort you take to provide feedback!_


End file.
